Void Walkers
by Cheezer-One
Summary: The peek of evolution wasn't anything to be proud of. It wasn't anything at all. Instinct reigned over the white abyss; and it's children were left only to feed and suffer. I don't own Bleach.
1. Born of the Void

**Void Walkers**

Chapter One

_Born of The Void_

"The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it."  
>― Lois Lowry, <em> The Giver <em>

* * *

><p>The eaters were close again; squirming in the darkness with only flashes of reflected moonlight against crazed eyes and gnawing teeth let him know how close they were getting. He remained still, unafraid of their much larger sizes. He watched them come, his eyes narrowing as they drew near. They moved as one, almost as a living shadow—connected and amassed into one massive thing that stood united only to consume him. Him, the strange one, the shock of white in the sea of cannibalistic, festering black.<p>

They writhed in the dark, packing together and pushing one another away when one became too close. He watched them interact, watched them converge on him. His eyes roamed, panning over the small patch of nothingness he stood in, seeing their eyes and teeth floating closer.

They intended to eat him this time.

One burst forward suddenly, charging like an animal and stopping short, slamming his fists into the white sand they stood on, his maw wide and trembling with his roar. A roar he didn't hear, he couldn't feel.

He didn't flinch. He didn't show fear.

They didn't like that.

–

Sometimes he would touch his hand to the sand, watching his fingers sink in to it, rivets up-heaved to make room for him. He watched it all, curious and observant. Like a child, almost. He would sometimes sit for days, dragging his hands through the sand and watching the images he could create. Nothing substantial, nothing of any kind of meaning. Just something.

He didn't feel the sand, he didn't feel himself, he didn't feel the grains sliding along his skin and grinding. He could see it, and that was all that let him know it was real.

He could not hear, he had no ears.

He could not smell, he had no nose.

He could not taste or talk, he had no mouth.

He could not feel, his skin was of living bone.

Only his eyes penetrated through the white bone armor that made the entirety of his body.

Only his eyes.

He could only observe his world through his eyes, through what he could see, and there wasn't much. Sometimes the black ones would come. Sometimes the feeders. Sometimes nothing at all. They would always see his small, white body. They would always attack.

Instinct would make him move. The blood on the sand would make him leave. He didn't like it when the white of his hands was stained.

Whenever he saw them they were in groups. Always in packs. A hazed memory would float in his mind just below the surface. Of he, larger, with a mouth and ears and touch. He'd remember gnawing something. He'd remember power. Then he'd remember darkness.

He was born of an endless darkness. Born of a void. Born of chaos and silence, yet shining brightly as though he didn't belong.

He looked at his hand with his eyes, reaffirming that they were still there. They existed. _He_ existed. He didn't know why, but that was enough for now.

And so he walked.

–

The separation of lands and territories in Hueco Mundo weren't kept by anything like fences or walls. Rather, the edge of a space was lined with the absolute furthest reach of the strongest's spiritual energy. The Vasto Lord's kept to their own, and the adjucas kept themselves in herds, feeding off of each other in a bloody feast until one was left. They would move around, keeping clear of wandering Gillians. The bone forrests were scattered, seperated only by fields of dunes in the endless white desert.

He roamed as he saw fit, going wherever he wanted, eating all who stood before him.

His maw was bloody, the taste of bone and meat between his fangs.

Blue eyes scoured the endless vastness, searching for his next meal. _Always_, he was hungry. _Always_, he was hunting.

_Always_, he was grew stronger.

And _always_, it was never enough.

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to it, lowering his small body and prowling closer. A spec of something in the distance, pale, nearly one of the bone-like extensions reaching up from the sand. He'd nearly written it off as another branch, but stopped when his eyes caught movement. Thin and spiked and almost a piece of it's surroundings, it blended in well. He'd wondered if it, like he, had eaten everything else. He hadn't seen another adjucas for days. He'd eaten his own heard when they'd given up, when they'd decided to stop moving forward.

Cowards. Weaklings. _Food_.

The entity in the distance, though. It was small, like he. It was pale, like he. He couldn't feel any sense of energy from it, nearly making him doubt that it wasn't a part of the menos forest after all, yet...

Something inside of him whispered _it is_ _strong_.

His maw was bloody, the taste of bone and meat between his fangs. Always, he was hungry. Always, he was hunting. Always, it was never enough.

He kept still for a moment, watching it.

Something inside of him told him that it was watching him, too.

His tail curled behind him, swaying lazily. For hundreds of years, he'd hunted. For hundreds of years, he'd been hunted. In all that time he'd learned wariness. He'd learned to recognize a threat, and it had kept him unbitten.

It was strong.

It gave off no energy. Energy was everywhere. He was inside of a territory.

_Vasto Lord._

_Not yet. Not this one. Not yet._

The pale, distant creature turned, seeing him.

_Too strong._

He watched it silently, claws digging into the sand, body still perched and ready to act. If it attacked, he would defend himself. If it came closer, he would run.

He would _not_ be bitten. He would _not_ be eaten. He would _not_ stop here.

_Not this one. Not yet. _

He didn't know how much time had passed. The moon never moved, the wind never howled. The sand never shifted.

The blood on his maw dripped thickly, lazily into the sand. The blood on his maw dried, black and flaking in time.

Time. It passed. How much? How long? He didn't know. Maybe hours. Maybe moments.

_Not yet_.

The pale creature walked away.

–

He didn't remember his evolution. He didn't remember his birth. Nothing ever did.

All he recalled was being. All he remembered was opening his eyes.

All he remembered was blackness.

Things approached him. _Large things._ Always so large. Some moved their mouths, some moved their hands. _Teeth, claws._ An attempt at communication usually, probably. He would stand, watching them, waiting.

Eventually they would stop. Eventually they would grow irritated that he did not answer. Eventually they would attack.

He killed them all.

He wondered, perhaps, what would happen if he let them touch him.

Always, his body would move. Always, they would die.

Something deep, something instinctive. Something that might have been all of him did not allow him to die. Instinct. Survival instinct.

It was powerful. It was all-encompassing.

It was everything.

Perhaps that was why they came to him.

Perhaps they viewed him as a threat to their survival.

His eyes always saw the same pattern.

Approach. Move. Gesture. Wait. Attack.

Die.

And he would walk. He would roam. He would see and he would live.

Because there was nothing else.

Because his eyes always saw nothing else.

And what his eyes could not see, did not exist.

Nothing.

No. _Something_.

In the distance.

Something small. Something white.

Something bloody.

He watched it. Waiting.

It moved.

It did not gesture. It waited.

It did not attack.

So he waited.

It kept it's distance, standing firm.

No words. No plea. No attempt.

Did he see this? Strange. It was different. It was odd. It was new.

It was strong, something inside of him said. Not loudly, not enough to make him worry.

Not yet.

It didn't move, and eventually, after he realized that he'd waited. That he'd been the one to grow impatient, he turned.

And he walked. He roamed. He saw and he lived.

Because there was nothing else.

Because his eyes always saw nothing else.

And what his eyes could not see, did not exist.

_Nothing_.

–

AN: First chapter of a 200 Prompt Mega Challenge.

Total word count thus far: 1375.

Theme: Isolation

Expect more.


	2. The Maw

**Void Walkers**

Chapter Two

_The Maw_

–

**AN: **The point of view switches between Adjucas!Grimmjow and Vasto Lord!Ulquiorra, for those of you who haven't been able to pick up on that just yet. The appearance of Ulquiorra and the thing that he finds are _HEAVILY_ based off of Ulquiorra's little background story in the Bleach Character Book 3, Unmasked.

Look it up, it's pretty cool.

Also, _fret not_; this story does indeed have a plot. It's kind of slow at first, but it'll get better. Just keep reading.

–

The little white being was following him again.

He didn't know how long now that they'd been in this pattern. It would vanish, it would appear, it would eat and then it would walk. Never with him, never before him. Always behind, always at a distance. Always far enough so that he could, even with his eyes, never fully see it.

He wondered perhaps if it were going to attack him. It had already proven to be an anomaly in that it was more patient than the rest. It had a better control of itself and its hunger than the rest. He wondered how long that would last.

He wondered, perhaps, if he would grow sick of it.

The thought had crossed his mind more than once to chase after the panther, to get closer and see it—but the creature was wary and slunk away into the white sands whenever their eyes met. It was clever enough to know not to approach, and he supposed that for now, he would extend the same courtesy.

That cleverness it showed made something in the back of his mind uneasy. Not enough to make him worry, but enough to keep his attention on it when it was close.

He wondered how long it would last.

He wondered who would be the first to break this pattern.

–

Instinct had told him to run when he'd first seen it.

His pride had made him stay.

It was probably curiosity that made him follow it.

It's patterns were strange. It would walk—patrolling it's territory, yet not. It seemed almost stupid in the way it behaved, as though it didn't really realize who or what it was. If it had a mind, it kept it to itself. He hadn't know exactly how long he'd been following it. Maybe weeks, maybe years. He'd never seen it eat. He'd never seen it speak. He'd never seen it do anything other than walk.

Many times the panther had eaten those who had gotten too close. His stomach always yearned for food, and those who approached it always died. He'd kept his distance until he realized that it didn't ever attack first. It was capable, though, and Grimmjow had widened the distance between the two when he saw it defend itself.

_Merciless._ That was the way it seemed when everything was over.

Maybe it was because it was a Vasto Lord—something that he'd only heard of in stories—that he kept it in sight. He wanted to study it, he wanted to see it.

_He wanted to eat it._

It was the peek of evolution within this hell. It was the end.

It was powerful.

It was terrifying.

Maybe that fear was what led him. Maybe the fear of what it was kept him at bay. It wouldn't for long, even he knew that, but it did for now. Watching. Waiting. Stalking. He observed, he learned.

It didn't feed. It was the first thing he'd learned of it.

It didn't hear. Once he'd figured that out, the encounters he watched with other adjucas had become little more than a free show. He'd watch it slaughter them just to see how it did it. Just to learn.

All it ever did was look. Forward, to the side, sometimes at the panther.

It would stare. It would blink, and then it would turn it's head, looking at something else. At nothing else.

He wondered, sometimes, what it was looking for.

Grimmjow made sure to not stand out. It had a look in his eyes that made his spine writhe. He didn't like it. Eventually he would get his fill of it. Eventually he would leave.

It was never long before he came back, though.

Never too long.

–

He wondered why they grouped together.

He'd seen them interacting in their little packs, communicating and looking out for one another. Companionship, perhaps? A play of comradeship to escape the emptiness of the void? He wondered why they did such trivial things. It all ended the same.

They always grew accustomed to something being behind it, always fell into the same sense of false security. Always turned on one another. They always ate one another.

There was always one left. There was always something bigger to eat it. Usually, lately, it turned out to be the panther.

He turned his head, letting his eyes fall onto the creature cat that had recently returned. It's was waiting again, watching him from the shade, licking it's paws. Cleaning itself.

He tilted his head to the side a bit as a thought came to him, and glanced back down to the cannibalistic slaughter of the group at the bottom of his dune. Had he acquired a companion?

Had he acquired someone who would try to eat him, like the rest?

His eyes narrowed, turning towards the panther again.

It was gone.

–

The adjucas were gathering again. He could sense it. They were congregating near the edge of the White Forest this time.

He turned to look at the Vasto Lord. It was crouched low at the top of a dune, hands playing with the sand, of all things—a weird habit. A deadly habit. One that made it look week and stupid. He knew better than to attack it when it was like that, when it looked like it wasn't paying attention. He'd seen it lay waste to those who had.

He lazed in the sand. His head he kept propped up on his front paws, shaded by a particularly thick spine. He hadn't eaten in days—a dangerous situation for him. The fear of regression had kept him hunting, had kept him eating. The creature had traveled too far to the west—away from the herding menos, away from where the food congregated. They'd come up to a group who were already half dead, still eating each other. He wouldn't be sated from them, they were all missing pieces of themselves. He wouldn't get any power from them.

He knew that if he stuck at it's shadow like this for much longer, he'd start to forget his mind.

He watched it play in the sand, it's eyes acutely tuned to him instead of it's doodle. It was doing it again, staring. The panther growled, tail twitching tensely behind him.

It was doing that more, lately. Looking at him.

He didn't like it. There was something in it's eyes. Something that made him feel as though he were being underestimated. It was only because the eyes looking at him belonged to a Vasto Lord that he hadn't attacked it yet. He would die—the difference in power was still too wide.

He stood, turning towards the White Forest.

He would come back later. He would find the little Vasto Lord again.

He needed to eat.

–

Ever since he had woken, the void had been pulling him. It had been whispering to him through the air, not enough to guide him, but enough to let him know that there was something out there. Something large, something magnificent.

It was what had kept him walking for so long. Walking, walking, walking. Always. Years, decades, centuries. He had no idea, he'd forgotten how many had tried to eat him, he'd forgotten all that he'd seen. All that he hadn't. It was all the same.

The calling was growing stronger. Subtly, slightly, but definitely. He'd been heading in the right direction, and after so long, it had led him to it.

When he had found it, he had been transfixed.

It was beautiful.

So white, so deadly, so pure.

So entrancing. He was possessed by a thought. Possessed by an urge.

He stepped towards it, the branches reaching out for him as though a perversion of a mother's embrace. He stepped into it, the barbs scraping against his body, some breaking, some piercing. Bits were chipping away, of it, of him, of them both. He didn't mind, he couldn't, and pressed further to the core.

Harsh. Unforgiving.

He could feel—_could feel_—as more of him chipped away. The bone-like skin that encased him wore away as he dug further in. The white grew brighter, the sounds—_sounds_—of his body moving against the jagged obstacles nearly deafened him. They smelt of the sun. They smelt of rotted flesh. _They smelt._

Something broke away. Something close. Something that had been an integral part of him had given away to the fierceness of the pure protrusions. Something instinctual.

Something on his face.

He could see only beauty. He could see only white. _Familiar_, he wanted to think, but didn't. His eyes had never seen such a mass as this, even if he had wished so. No, they had only recently taken in this beauty, and was grateful to know that it would be all he would see from this point forward.

He let his eyes slide closed as he settled into his new world. He let his wings and tail wrap around him protectively, cocooning him.

He let the radiance wash over him.

He let it's alluring energy fill him.

And slept.

–

It hadn't moved in years.

He would have thought it was dead if it weren't for the steady weight of it's spiritual energy pressing down onto him, even now. He didn't know how many times he had come back to this spot, watching and waiting. Patiently at a distance, observing. The spindaling forest of living bones was a strange thing, even now. In all his travels, in all his roaming, he'd never seen anything like it, and had felt the urge to investigate. Something inside of him was pulling him towards it, but self-preservation kept him at bay.

That thing was still inside—mutating somehow, changing slowly over time. He'd come back often to observe, knowing that what he was witnessing was slow, unusual and rare.

_Evolution beyond that of Vasto Lord_, his mind whispered to him. He didn't believe it, even now, even as the evidence pointed towards it. His mind told him, however, that _no_—this was something else.

He'd sat on his perch atop a dune miles away, watching. Waiting.

Realizing that it was asleep.

The epiphany was a strange one. He'd wondered why he hadn't realized before—but then remembered that it wasn't often that adjucas slept. The nearly godlike idealization of Vasto Lords had led him to, like most, not dwell on the thoughts of them doing anything akin to normal. They weren't. They were above the rest. His years and years of observations on this one had told him as much. It was different, he knew that—but still not to what extent.

His tail had moved before he had, and before his mind had caught up to him, he was stepping towards the oddity.

It was almost like a forest. Maybe more a thorn bush. Whatever it was, _it was calling him_ towards it. I_t was urging him_ to move closer.

His paws moved more surely in the sand, more purposefully as he drew nearer, his resolution hardening with every step.

He drew in on it, warily circling the mass until he saw the opening that the Vasto Lord had cut through. It was inside, and as much as he wanted to enter the oddity, he wanted to keep himself alive more, and was careful not to be clumsy. He lifted himself up to the opening, peering inside of it.

In the time that had passed it looked as though the thorns had started to regrow, hampering his sight of the creature just a bit. He could see it's back inside, though, and narrowed his eyes.

Sleeping.

_Vulnerable._

He didn't know if he'd get a chance like this again.

With the silence and stealth that only a panther could have, he moved. He drew in closer, head ducked low and claws extended. His tail held straight behind him, tense and ready for when he struck. He maneuvered himself around the regrowing branches, though not easily. They were both small, he and it, but he was bigger. His body was thicker and heavier, but more flexible and more agile. He approached. Slowly. He approached.

And he saw it.

He held fast, just one powerful running step away from it. He could attack, now, and have his fangs in it's flesh before it woke, yet...

With every step, the calling had grown stronger.

With every step, the weight of his eyes grew heavier.

With every step, his instincts shifted. _Sleep. Relax. Give yourself to me. Feed off of me. Rest_.

And he was so tired.

He shook his head.

No. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. He would eat this one, first. He would evolve, first. He was close enough now, he could feel it.

Turning his head back towards his prey, he looked at it, preparing himself—and stopped.

It was looking back.

Shit.

"...the Creature Cat..." it muttered—trailing off blearily and screwing it's face up into something between shock and pain.

Grimmjow looked at it steadily. Since when did it have a mouth? His eyes glanced at it's face more carefully, realizing that it's mask was chipped and broken away so that now only the top right half of the helmet-type thing was left.

It looked odd. It's face looked something...familiar. Something he might have once been, something that made the hole in his gut ache.

Something that made his mouth water.

He leaped at it.

The half-asleep creature moved so fast he didn't see it, didn't register the spike in spiritual pressure, didn't register the sudden weight of everything and followed his instinct. Followed his gut.

The thing howled, it's barbed cocoon had grown around it, had made it unaware of it's positioning, had made it difficult to dodge.

The panther roared.

He bit it. His maw full of fangs and saliva and power latched onto it's arm, sinking into the bone-covered flesh. It was there, hidden under the layers, hidden under the skin, but he found it and refused to let go.

The creature looked stunned from the suddenness of the violence, it's century long sleep making it sluggish to react. But it _did_ react, and that century long sleep had made it's power grow.

An arc of power exploded from it's hand, pushing the panther away.

The panther twisted it's body, guarding himself with his flank as fast as he could. He jerked his head to the side and tore from it. The flesh was like fire in his mouth, but he swallowed. He ate from it.

_He ate from it._

The creature went into a primal rage, the white barbs surrounding it cracking and slamming to the sand by the weight of it's erupting power.

But as it reached out with a hand, energy swirling like a supernova around it, ready to kill, the panther flared.

The air was suddenly so thick.

The world was suddenly spinning.

And the Panther grinned, bearing the bloody fangs in it's maw.

And the panther _evolved_.

–

**AN:** Chapter two if a 200 Prompt Mega Challenge.

Total word count thus far: 3843

Expect More.


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